


His Fingers, His Words, His Song

by nickelkeep



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, During Canon, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Oral Sex, Rimming, Service Top Jaskier | Dandelion, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23716969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelkeep/pseuds/nickelkeep
Summary: After the fight with the Selkiemore, Geralt learns that it's okay to want and maybe even need.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 366





	His Fingers, His Words, His Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tennyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/gifts).



> My first Witcher fic! Written for the lovely [Tennyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/works), who wanted more bottom Geralt content.  
> ...  
> Thanks to [casgirlsam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casgirlsam/works) for the beta, as usual. Where would I be without my best friend?  
> ...  
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://nickelkeep.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nickelwrites).

Geralt knew trouble when he saw it. And in this case, trouble’s name was Jaskier.

At first, Geralt was vaguely annoyed by the bard’s presence, his constant singing, the neverending lute strumming. Jaskier reminded Geralt of a persistent headache. Apparently, one could not just avoid Jaskier either. He came around at the most inconvenient of times, and usually, the only way to block him out was through sleep.

But despite Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt began to see something beyond the irritating traits. When they sat in a tavern after a successful kill, and Jaskier regaled the townspeople of the Witcher’s feats, Geralt found a heat rising in his cheeks. He’d earned praise before, despite the stigma against Witchers, but it was nothing like how Jaskier made him feel.

Geralt realized what that feeling was after a particularly gruesome fight with a selkiemore. The person who had hired him had apparently been telling the story of the battle to the crowd - and Jaskier, who held a quill in his hand - was quite adamant that Geralt was fine. Of course, he, as anyone worth their salt in monster-slaying, knew that you disemboweled them from the inside. That was Geralt’s first clue that the bard was more than a traveling companion:

Jaskier’s faith in him was unprecedented.

After being whisked away to a room Jaskier had already procured for them, Geralt was surprised to find a large tub filled with warm water waiting for him.

“I know how gross killing monsters can get first hand,” Jaskier commented as he watched him. Geralt felt a familiar heat pooling up inside of himself.

He managed a grunt as he turned away from Jaskier and removed his armor, dropping it to the floor.

“Well, at least the majority of it stayed on the outside of your... armor.” Jaskier’s head tilted to the side as Geralt stepped out of his pants. “Tell me, how do you get in all of that?”

Geralt stared over his shoulder at Jaskier. “One foot at a time.” He left everything where it fell and crossed over to the tub. Geralt climbed in, letting out a sigh as the hot water soothed his aching muscles.

“Yes, yes. You’re welcome. Do try to wash some of that…” Jaskier gestured with his hand. “Off. Please.” The bard picked up the armor delicately and headed towards the door. “Disgusting.”

Geralt huffed out a small laugh as Jaskier slinked out of the room with the armor. By no means was Jaskier his servant or his maid, so the fact that Jaskier took that small step for Geralt meant a lot. Despite his annoying tendencies, the bard had a lot of good things about him. Perhaps the strangest one of all was that throughout everything, he wanted to stick by Geralt’s side.

The Witcher slid down into the tub as far as his body could go. He knew he and his kind were needed. Monsters were far too plenty in the world. But to be wanted? It was a strange feeling, one that was foreign to Geralt. He would be remiss to say he wasn’t enjoying it.

Jaskier reentered their room, a cunning grin spanning his face. “So, about this evening.”

“No.” Geralt’s response was met with a bucket of water over his head.

“Food, women, and wine, Geralt. Why deny yourself the simple pleasures in life?” Jaskier flung his arms out to the sides and did a spin. “All I’m asking for is one night of being your best friend’s bodyguard.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Oh. Oh, really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?” Jaskier winked, his smirk insufferable as Geralt glared in silent response. “Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought.” Jaskier threw salts into the bath, and the scent of lavender almost overwhelmed Geralt.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

Jaskier stopped still. “Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, daughters, sons, brothers. There was once with a lower lord’s mother.” The bard chuckled as Geralt scowled. “That face! ‘Tis a perfect scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.” 

Geralt reached for the beer he brought up from the bar, but Jaskier dashed in and grabbed it before Geralt could claim it. He cringed under Geralt’s glare. “Sorry, you may want to lay off the Cintran ale. I need you at your best.”

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.” Geralt rolled his eyes and started to scrub at the ichor clinging to his skin.

“Right. You never get involved. Except, when you do, which is all of the time.” Jaskier huffed out a laugh at Geralt’s glare. “You are as bad as a cranky old git.” Jaskier took a bucket and drew out some of the filthy water before crossing to the window with it. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to know. What do Witchers do when they grow old?” He returned with another warm bucket of water and dumped it in.

“If they get old, they slow and get killed.”

Jaskier froze, his back to Geralt, and the Witcher was unable to see what thoughts were running across his face. Jaskier turned around, a frown on his face. “You must want something for yourself once all this…” He gestured toward Geralt with a flourish of his hand. “Monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

“I want nothing.”

“Well, who knows?” Jaskier squatted down at the side of the tub, his voice taking the most serious tone Geralt had ever heard from the bard. “Maybe someone out there will want you.”

“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.” Geralt tried to look away from Jaskier but found himself drowning in the stormy blue eyes scrutinizing him.

“And yet, here we are.” Jaskier let out a sigh as he closed his eyes. His chin fell to his chest as he started to stand, and Geralt shot his hand out to grab Jaskier’s wrist. “Geralt?”

“I want…” Geralt hesitated, knowing he had previously said he wanted nothing. “It’s not something I want.” He watched and waited until Jaskier opened his eyes. “It is someone that I want.”

Geralt felt Jaskier’s pulse quicken where he held the bard’s wrist. Jaskier wet his lips and swallowed, and Geralt wanted nothing more than to drag his tongue along the bobbing Adam’s apple. “There is someone that I want as well, Geralt. More than I have ever wanted before.”

A soft hum punctured the brief silence that followed their half admissions. Geralt let go of Jaskier’s wrist, and Jaskier quickly moved to change out some of the water in the tub again. Another bucket of warm water rushed over his head, and Geralt took the opportunity to scrub the rest of the selkiemore guts out of his hair.

“Geralt?”

“What, Jaskier?” Geralt asked softly as he looked up and over his shoulder.

“What are the odds that our wants are of a similar interest?” Jaskier bit his bottom lip, chewing on it before speaking again. “We can mention those wants once, and if they’re not? We could continue as we were, never speak of them again.”

“You fear your wants, Jaskier?”

“Only that I cannot have them.” Jaskier sat on the stool next to the tub. “I’ve never wanted as much as I want this person. But perhaps?” Jaskier licked his bottom lip before pulling it in between his teeth again, a tic that Geralt came to notice over their travels together. “Do you not fear, Geralt of Rivia?”

“Witchers do not feel fear.” Geralt searched Jaskier’s eyes, looking for the truth he already knew to be adamant. He moved in the tub, getting to his knees before pushing himself forward to taste Jaskier’s mouth. 

Jaskier let out a small sound of surprise, nearly pulling away before pushing himself back into the kiss. He pulled back for air, a smirk crooked on his lips. “How bold, Witcher, that you assume it is you I want.”

“Then forgive me for being so bold.” Geralt stood up, pulling Jaskier to his feet alongside him. He moved his hand up Jaskier’s arm, gripping it tightly, and stepped out of the tub. He stood naked in front of Jaskier, his body’s musculature emphasized by the rivulets of water sliding down his body.

“Shall I get you a sheet to dry off with?” Jaskier started to turn away when Geralt stopped him.

“No.” Geralt hesitantly reached for the string on Jaskier’s britches and tugged on it, pulling it out of its knot. Jaskier’s breath hitched, and Geralt looked into his eyes for any sign asking him to stop. Satisfied that Jaskier wanted it as much as he did, he loosened the lacing and pulled up on Jaskier’s shirt. The bard lifted his arms without being told and slid out of his tunic.

“Don’t feel like you need to do this, Geralt. I said–” Geralt cut him off with another kiss, firmer and rougher than the first. 

Geralt rested his hands on Jaskier’s hips, gripping them tightly and pulling the bard up against him. “Shut up, Jaskier.”

Jaskier appeared to hesitate before nodding fervently.

“Hmm.” Geralt moved to his knees, pulling down Jaskier’s trousers as he went.

Jaskier let out a sinful groan as his cock popped out and hit the cool air of the room. He stepped out of his pants, kicking them into a pile with his tunic as Geralt wrapped a hand around his cock. Jaskier’s eyes opened wider in surprise as Geralt started to stroke him. “Geralt.” The name tumbled off of the bard’s tongue in quiet praise and devotion.

Geralt looked up at Jaskier and shivered, realizing the one fear he did have. He ran his tongue under the head of Jaskier’s cock, licking upward as he cleaned the precome from the tip. Jaskier gripped Geralt’s shoulder, steadying himself, the moan escaping his lips sounding sweeter than any song he’d ever sung. Geralt wrapped his lips around Jaskier, inhaling the earthy, musky scent he’d secretly enjoyed.

“Where did you learn to do that, my dear Witcher?” Jaskier tangled his fingers in Geralt’s hair as Geralt started to work himself back and forth along Jaskier’s length. Geralt shot a death glare up at Jaskier, who breathlessly laughed. “Sorry, you shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.”

Geralt traced his fingers along Jaskier’s legs, following the curves and dips of the lithe muscles usually hidden by his trousers. He pulled off of Jaskier’s cock and sat back on his heels. “I should have known you’d be obnoxious about this.”

“Me? Never.” Jaskier shook his head. “Why would I deny myself the perfection that is better than my dreams?” The bard cupped his hand under Geralt’s chin, slightly tipping it up. “Stand with me, Geralt?”

Geralt hummed and stood slowly, letting the blood flow return to his extremities.

“What can I do for you, Geralt? This isn’t just about my wants.” Jaskier ran his fingers along Geralt’s jaw before moving down his chest. His fingers caught on a scar, and he examined it with his fingers, as though he were memorizing it by touch.

“I want…” Geralt paused, the word ‘want’ catching in his throat. This wasn’t like asking for his choice of wench at the local brothel. This was asking his best friend - not that he’d admit it - to be with him in the most intimate of ways. “I want you, Jaskier. I want to feel you complete me.”

The briefest look of surprise crossed Jaskier’s face. He quickly reeled it in and nodded. “Whatever you want, Geralt.” Jaskier gestured to the bed. “After you.”

Geralt climbed onto the bed, assuming the position that reminded him of a lifetime ago. The bed sunk behind him, and he sighed out in surprise when Jaskier softly traced along his thighs.

“Geralt, not to question your wants…”

“Then don’t.” After a moment, he felt Jaskier’s hands rest on his ass, kneading it before spreading the cheeks open. However, he was surprised by a warm, soft feeling dragging across his hole. A keen escaped Geralt’s throat as he grasped wildly at the blanket beneath him.

Jaskier pulled back the slightest bit and chuckled. “I take it you’ve never had this luxury before?” He didn’t wait for an answer and returned to his performance, proving that his tongue had better uses than swindling lords and singing songs. 

“Please, Jaskier.” The sensation was overwhelming, and Geralt made a noise somewhere between bliss and discontentment.

“How beautifully you come apart when you let someone in, Geralt.” Jaskier shifted behind him, and Geralt felt Jaskier’s cock resting against his ass. “One last time, my beautiful white wolf. This is what you want, yes?”

Geralt nodded into the bed, his voice slightly breaking as he uttered yes to Jaskier’s inquiry. He braced for a rough thrust, a harsh breaching, only to be surprised yet again when Jaskier slowly pressed in. The bard took his time, allowing Geralt to have the chance to adjust as he slid in slowly. Geralt choked out a sob as Jaskier finished his entrance.

“Are you okay, Geralt?” The worry that laced into Jaskier’s voice was endearing, and Geralt realized that Jaskier was taking care of him, drawing small circles into his back and hips. “You feel amazing.”

Geralt looked back over his shoulder and found Jaskier watching him intently. “I am more than okay, Jaskier.”

Relief washed over Jaskier’s face, and he laughed as he relaxed. “Good to know that sex makes you speak more than three words in a sentence.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Geralt inhaled deeply. “Are you just going to talk, Jaskier?”

“No, no. Of course, not.” Jaskier gripped Geralt’s hips and began to slide out, leaving Geralt feeling empty. “I want a happy Witcher.” He moved back in and melded against Geralt’s body, leaving small kisses between his shoulder blades. “I am weak, love, and I have been wanting.”

Geralt’s arms went weak at Jaskier’s confession, and he collapsed onto his forearms. He moaned into the crook of his elbow as Jaskier reached underneath him, wrapping his hand around Geralt’s cock. Jaskier matched his thrusts to his strokes, working in tandem to bring Geralt to his release. Geralt bit into his arm, trying to keep his noise to a minimum.

“I promise you, my Witcher, that the next time we do this, you won’t have to keep quiet.” Jaskier managed to breathe out his promise between thrusts. “We’ll find a place where we can be just us.” He laid more kisses along Geralt’s skin. “We can do this, and I can show you again, and again, how much you mean to me.”

Jaskier’s soft promises, the hopes that wove their way into Geralt’s thoughts, pushed him over the edge, spiraling down into oblivion as he spilled into Jaskier’s hand.

“You’re beautiful, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, his forehead resting against Geralt’s back as he found his own release a few thrusts later. Jaskier collapsed against Geralt, breathing heavily. “That… there are no words for how I feel right now, Geralt.” He slid out, and Geralt rotated under him.

“Perhaps you’re going to say that you’re now too tired to go to the betrothal?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. “That you want to stay here, in this bed, with me?”

“You can be clever when you want to be.” Jaskier crawled up and laid down next to Geralt, the bed shifting under his collapse. “We won’t stay long. And I’m okay with being fashionably late.” Jaskier took Geralt’s chin between finger and thumb and tilted his head down. “Especially if you’re the reason I’m late.” He closed his eyes and claimed Geralt in a kiss, just as much as he had unknowingly claimed Geralt with his song.


End file.
